Life of St Guenole by Wrdistan c.9th century
(adapted from the prose version found in The Druids,
P. Berresford-Ellis pp89-90 )
Do not be harsh with me,
For I know the depths of suffering.
The ills I have endured
Compare nothing to you agonies,
For, I have lost my Gods.
What sorrow can compare with this sorrow?
I was a Druid once,
Now, I mourn a dead religion.
I am the last worshipper of the Teutates.
A sad thing to be sure-
Are we not sprung from common ancestors?
Once when I was young,
A great red granite stone stood here.
The touch of it
Gave sight to the blind,
Hearing to the deaf,
Hope to a heart's distress.
May the Church you raise here
Inherit the same virtues.
It is my wish,
As one conquered,
But resigned to the winds of change.
Raise your Church
To the Sorrowful Mother of your God,
So that the sick may find health,
And the heavy-laden may find peace.
I feel neither bitterness,
This is my wish.
I give my blessings.
I have spoken.
You say, "To believe is to know."
My refuge is in the woodland paths-
Do not all paths lead
To the same Great Center?
I will not learn your Word of Life-
For when all things pass to the Otherworld
We may find, perchance,
This has been nothing but a Great Mistake.
--- Brian Ó Dubhghaill <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Quoting Fatima Han <[log in to unmask]>:
> > Oh, man. How biased you (people from the Celtic
> culture) are against
> > Islam!!!!!
> Examine what is said, not him who speaks.
> --Arab proverb
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